


I Miss You So

by Allycat33



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Avengers (2012) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allycat33/pseuds/Allycat33
Summary: Even when Steve had nothing, he had Bucky. And now Bucky was gone.Bucky, who would come home from work at the docks, covered in grime, and pull Steve in despite his protests, swaying to the music flowing from the radio, always murmering some iteration of “I love you” into Steve’s lips.Steve was suddenly painfully aware of the music coming from the iPod.Those happy hoursthat once were oursI miss, and yes, I know.Most of allI miss you so.—Steve gets pulled from the ice and grieves the loss of the Commandos, 1930’s Brooklyn, and Bucky Barnes.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	I Miss You So

The apartment was bigger than anything Steve lived in before the war. It wasn’t anything grand by modern standards apparently, but it was more space than one person- who had only ever lived in tenements, first with his mother, and then later with his best friend- needed. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen. SHIELD had decorated the place in warm neutrals, and added a record player, as if that would make him feel more at home- as if it would make up for the fact that he was almost seventy years in the future.

The first time Steve had tried to use the record player, he realized they had stocked the library with 40’s hits, most of which were unfamiliar. Music he had missed while fighting a war and crashing a plane and freezing in ice.

He gave up on the record player. They gave him an iPod.

That led Steve to where he was now, sitting at the small, wooden kitchen table, the lights dim, and the iPod playing familiar music that he chose himself. SHIELD had given him a manila folder full of papers marked with the faces and lives of people he had called family a couple weeks or sixty-seven years ago- people who were now gone.

Dugan, Jones, Falsworth, Morita, Dernier. Deceased.

George and Winnifred Barnes. Rebecca, Lillian, Katherine Barnes. Deceased.

James Barnes. Deceased.

The files were spread across the table, and Steve had been staring at Bucky’s face on his file, the red stamp of “DECEASED” glaring back at him, as one song faded to the next. The music was dull background noise, Steve’s thoughts loud enough to overpower everything else.

To him, Bucky died three weeks ago. The one constant in Steve’s life, gone forever. They had always been _Steve And Bucky_ , glued to each other since 1926, together til the end of the line. They grew together, lived together, fought together, loved together. They were best friends, and then they were more. Even when Steve had nothing, he had Bucky. And now Bucky was gone.

Bucky, who took Steve up to the roof every July 4th before the war, with a pilfered bottle of who knows what from who knows where, always saying some iteration of “amazing how they do fireworks for you every year, Stevie.”

Bucky, who sat Steve down on the toilet in the shared bathroom of their tenement building and wiped the blood off Steve’s face fight after fight, always yelling some iteration of “its like you wanna get fuckin’ hit! One of these days they’re gonna kill you, Steve!”

Bucky, who would come home from work at the docks, covered in grime, and pull Steve in despite his protests, swaying to the music flowing from the radio, always murmering some iteration of “I love you” into Steve’s lips.

Steve was suddenly painfully aware of the music coming from the iPod.

_Those happy hours_   
_that once were ours_   
_I miss, and yes, I know_

_Most of all_   
_I miss you so_

Steve balled his hands into fists on the table top, trying to tune out the song, tune out his thoughts.

_Now that I’m lonely_   
_I want you only_   
_to share my dreams once more_

_Please come back_   
_I miss you so_

_I thought you said we’d never part_   
_my dear_   
_And now Im longing-_

The song cut off as Steve slammed his fist down on the iPod. This was some sort of cruel joke. He pulled his hand away to find blood where the glass screen of the iPod punctured his skin, and simply stared for a moment, before slowly getting up and shuffling to his bedroom. He laid on his bed, ontop of the covers, staring at nothing, suddenly drained of all energy. His bleeding hand was pulled to his chest, stuck pieces of glass making themselves known as he moved. He would get up and pick the glass out in a minute, wipe the blood off in a minute. In the morning he would go back to the kitchen table and use the phone SHIELD gave him to call the number on Peggy’s file- the only file stating “Retired” rather than “DECEASED.” He would walk around Brooklyn, looking for something familiar, and trying to get used to everything that wasn’t.

He didn’t do any of that.

Instead, a sob ripped through him, breaking the silence that filled the apartment. Steve was alone. He was alone and Bucky was dead and it was 2012 even though the war was two weeks ago. He gasped for breath between sobs, tears making tracks down his face. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Bucky died, and Steve had followed him a week later. Steve wasn’t supposed to be here. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to navigate this confusing and foreign world alone? How was he supposed to do anything without Bucky?

He wasn’t awarded time to give it much thought. Two evenings later, when Steve finally was able to drag himself out of bed, Nick Fury found him beating his knuckles raw on a punching bag in the one place that stayed relatively the same in the past 70 years: Goldie’s Boxing Gym, the gym where Bucky had trained, where Bucky had tried to teach Steve how to hold his own in a fight.

“Trouble sleeping?” asked Fury, foregoing a greeting. Steve paused for a moment, before throwing another punch.

“I slept for seventy years sir, I think I’ve had my fill.” Fury didn’t need to know that Steve had spent the past two days in and out of consciousness, in his too soft bed, on top of his covers.

Fury told him he should be celebrating. Seeing the world. Steve just wanted everything to stop.

“You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am.”

And just like that, Steve was back fighting a war, when all he wanted was to go home- to 1930’s Brooklyn, to Bucky. To drunken nights on rooftops, back-alley fights, and slow-dances in a cramped tenement. A home that no longer existed.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Steve Rogers’ lack of time to grieve and heal after getting pulled from the ice. That turned into this
> 
> The lyrics to the song playing on Steve’s iPod belong to the song 1939 song “I Miss You So” by The Cats and The Fiddle. That song is essentially what inspired this fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you felt something!  
> Take care of yourself, drink some water, practice self-love, have a good morning/day/night.


End file.
